


you always find out

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Appropriation of Christian Traditions into a Fantasy Holiday, F/M, Papa Satinalia, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is depressingly simple. He loves her. It is ridiculous and impossible, but he loves her despite it. And whilst he can think of a thousand suitable gifts… there is only one that will do. Completely over the top, <i>ridiculously</i> expensive, the kind of gift one might buy for the person to whom they were eternally bonded… <i>fuck it,</i> he thinks. <i>Why not?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	you always find out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satine86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/gifts).



> Roughly based on this prompt:  
> “i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years”

“Papa’s Secret Helpers?” Cassandra wrinkles her nose. “It sounds… _untoward_.”

“Now, Seeker, surely you’ve done it before.” Varric sits by the fire with her, grinning as she shakes her head. “Perfect Satinalia pastime for those with too many friends and not enough coin. You all pick a name from a hat, and you buy a gift for that person. Then everyone comes together and everyone’s got a present from someone. Traditionally you don’t say who it’s from, that’s the secret part. But people like to know.”

She mulls this over for some time, and Varric rather fancies she might be interested.

“You _never_ find out?”

He shrugs. “These days, you _always_ find out. But it’s a nice idea.”

“And the Papa in the - oh, of course. Papa Satinalia.”

He chuckles. “Not a Nevarran favourite, I take it.”

She shifts slightly. “Not in the Pentaghast house,” she admits. “My uncle was very traditional. Fasting, prayers and the gift of being one step closer to death.” The words are said flippantly, but Varric catches the angry undertones.

“Well,” he offers, “maybe this is a tradition you’ll _like_.”

* * *

 

She considers him for a moment, before smiling slightly. “Perhaps. When do we draw names?”

“Actually,” interrupts the Iron Bull, “we were just waiting on you.”

She looks surprised as the others gather around, the Inquisitor grinning as he folds up slivers of parchment. “Oh,” she says lamely.

Varric chuckles. “So you’re in?”

“I suppose I am.”

* * *

 

After two false starts in which Dorian draws his own name twice, the group move. Varric stares at the tiny scrap of parchment bearing Cassandra’s name. Well, it was his luck, truly. His stupid luck. A one-in-twelve chance and he _still_ managed to pick the one person he would rather have avoided, if only to save face.

The problem is depressingly simple. He _loves_ her. It is ridiculous and impossible, but he loves her despite it. And whilst he can think of a thousand suitable gifts… there is only one that will do. Completely over the top, _ridiculously_ expensive, the kind of gift one might buy for the person to whom they were eternally bonded… _fuck it,_ he thinks. _Why not?_

“Who’d you get?” asks Sera, and his hand closes around the scrap, shoving it in his pocket.

“Not the point,” he says with a smile.

She sticks her tongue out, before looping an arm over his shoulder. “Fine. Where you going for the gift? Me and Dorian are heading to Denerim tonight.”

“You got Bull, then, and Sparkler got Curly.”

She laughs. “Hate you. You coming, then?”

“Naah. Just need to send a raven or two and I’ll be sorted. You know me, I’ll do as little work as possible for maximum effect.”

“Smart arse.” She gently headbutts him before taking her leave, and Varric smiles as he watches the group disperse.

Cassandra lingers behind, brow furrowed, and Varric knows he should walk away, leave her to work it out herself, but… he will always be drawn to her, it seems, as he sidles over.

“You look happy,” he teases, and she jumps.

“Oh! No, it is fine. Just… trying to work out what would be the best course of action.”

He chuckles. “Of course you are. Well, Buttercup’s headed to Denerim tonight, and I’m sure others will be going to Val Royeaux in the next few days.”

“I think…” She takes a deep breath, smiling. “I think my gift is best arranged here.”

He quirks up an eyebrow. “Interesting. Well, I’ll leave you to your devious plotting, Seeker. I have my own to arrange.”

She focuses on him quite suddenly. “Oh?”

“Operative word, Seeker. _Secret_ Helpers.” And he saunters off as she laughs, swallowing the flare of joy at the sound.

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the tavern is infectious, laughter and merriment abound as the Inner Circle take up a large table.

“Before we begin -”

Sera groans loudly, and Bull throws a bread roll at the Inquisitor. “Get on with it!”

“ _Before_ we begin,” he continues doggedly, “I just want to thank you all for being here - for sticking around to help take down the heinous threats that keep cropping up. It means everything to me to have people I can rely on.”

“Hear hear!” calls Cullen, and Josephine applauds.

“Alright, let’s begin!” He settles in his seat. “Who wants to open their present first?”

“Me!” yells Sera, reaching across the table for a brightly wrapped gift. The noise breaks the tension, and Varric allows himself to relax slightly.

There are few surprises - Dorian bemoans his gift to Sera, who adores it all the same (and perhaps even more so for his earlier lies about who he was buying for). Cullen cracks a smile at his schedule being cleared for a whole day - Cassandra looks particularly smug about that present. And Josephine is left blushing when the Iron Bull opens his gift, a selection of indecently-named massage oils that have him howling with laughter.

And then a small box is pushed in front of Cassandra.

“This one’s yours,” says Josephine with a smile.

The Seeker frowns slightly, lifting the box. “What is it?”

Varric laughs, despite his nerves. The perfect response from her.

Bull slaps her shoulder. “Open it and find out. That’s the point.”

The ribbon falls away under the fingers, and she opens the box to reveal -

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes, and Josephine gasps as she lifts the light chain from the box. “It is more beautiful than I remember.”

The locket hangs in front of her, gold glinting in the candlelight, and for a moment it is as if Varric has forgotten how to breathe. Her eyes are lit up, her smile widening as she regards it with a reverence he has not seen in her before.

“It’s _gorgeous_ , Cassandra,” murmurs Dorian.

“It is silly, I -” She stops, blushing as she laughs. “I have wanted this for a long time. It looks like the one my mother had.”

“It is,” offers Leliana. “The one from the window of DuFreiss, yes? The master jeweller made five of them, to give to the most beautiful women in the world. Your mother immediately commissioned an artist to fill it with paintings of her family. Your uncle donated it after her death.”

Cassandra swallows, opening the locket. “ _Maker_. It cannot be...” True to the tale, tiny pictures of her family stare back at her - impossibly young and far away. She closes it, wiping the tears that were forming. “Leliana, I cannot -”

“I wish I could take credit for such a gift,” the spymaster smiles, “but I only know the history. I have been leaning on the DuFreiss matriarch to ‘donate’ it back to you for some months, but she would not.”

“Then - who?” She glances around the table. “Which of you did this?”

Cullen looks pained. “That’s the point of the game, Cassandra. You don’t know.”

“It could be from _any_ of us, so really it is from _all_ of us.” Josephine pats her arm gently. “And that is how it works.”

Cole smiles. “Secret - a _good_ secret, the best kind, it swells in the heart and sings in the space between you. Not even _I_ can tell you.”

Varric swallows as her eyes sweep the group once more, before she looks rueful.

“I am beyond grateful,” she admits quietly, “but I am afraid I did not spend _nearly_ as much as this.”

The laughter ripples across the group, along with joking agreements and Varric declaring her the ‘winner’ of Satinalia.

* * *

 

It is not until later, when the hubbub dies down and the group parts ways for the night, that he is cornered by Dorian and the Iron Bull.

“Varric!”

He smiles over the edge of his drink. “Sparkler. Tiny. You look like you’re about to ask me things.”

They settle opposite him, and Bull grins. “You know Dorian. He _has_ to know.”

“Quite,” sniffs Dorian, before fixing the dwarf with a look. “I worked out that you had our Seeker in the draw, which means _you’re_ the one who acquired that locket.”

“And?”

“Did you steal it?”

He laughs. “No, Sparkler, I _paid_ for it like any decent merchant.”

“But it was valued at _five hundred royals_.” He looks aghast. “Varric, why did you -”

“You _know_ why.” He focuses intently on his mug. “Tiny knows. He's always known. Right?”

The Iron Bull inclines his head slightly, and Dorian rolls his eyes.

“Yes, alright, we _all_ know. But you've shown your hand to her now.”

“Ah, but I haven't.” He looks up, grin crooked. “She'll ask around, sure, but only you two really _know_ it was me, and you won’t tell her because otherwise you already would have. So she’ll just get on with being glad that _someone_ cared enough to buy her the locket she’s always been drawn to, and she’ll stop questioning _who_ or _why_ , and she’ll never ever know that it was because an idiot dwarf was in love with her, and that’s how the story goes. It’s _foolproof_ , honestly -”

Varric trails off at the pained look on Dorian’s face.

“She’s behind me, isn’t she?”

“Yes, my friend.”

“Shit.” He downs his drink, slamming the mug down. “ _Shit_. I have to go.”

“Varric?” Her voice is quiet, and with it comes the realisation of just how loud he had been talking.

“I, ah - I have things I need to finish. For Ruffles, you know how it is. I’ll, ah - later, yeah? Later.” He stumbles away from them, not daring to look back as he bolts out the door.

* * *

 

He flies into his quarters, grabbing his duster from the back of his chair. Stupid drunken folly. Truly the story of his life, he thinks with a growl. Oh, he could blame the mage and the Qunari, of course, but in his heart - _stupid_ heart, how it ached and skipped - he knew only he could be held accountable. 

Grabbing a pack, he shoves some fresh shirts in it. If he was quick, if he was smart, he could be in Orlais before the dawn. The Inquisitor would understand - there were other ways to help the Inquisition, after all, safer ways to help without having to face -

**Knock knock.**

“Shit,” he breathes, stilling. If he kept quiet, surely she would go away. Surely -

“I know you are in there,” calls Cassandra. “Varric, I… I do not... ” A beat, a heavy sigh and then a last request, quieter still. “ _Please_.”

He swallows. It was a bad idea, of course. Terrible. But if he was going to leave anyway, it was probably best to clear the air - to leave knowing with certainty that she understood his heart.

He clears his throat. “Come in.”

She is quiet as she slips in, closing the door behind her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and he turns away, folding the tunic in his hands. He can almost hear her weighing her words.

“Just ask, Seeker.”

“It was you.”

“You know it was.”

“Why?”

“You know that as well.”

“Varric, it was valued at -”

He closes his eyes. “Do you want me to say it? Because I don’t know if I can.”

She takes a cautious step forwards. “You do not have to,” she offers quietly, “though I do not think you an idiot dwarf, as you put it.”

“Then you’re as foolish as I am, Seeker.” He turns to face her, but his eyes remain fixed on the floor. “Look, I know… I _know_ nothing comes of it. I know how the story goes. But you deserve better than this world’s ever given you, and it… it seemed like as good a time as any. So I got you something you wanted - really wanted.”

“You did.” She laughs. “And I suppose you got me the locket as well.”

“What?”

“There was no way you could have known. I could scarcely admit my feelings to _myself_. And yet…”

Hope flares, and he pushes it down. “I, ah - I don’t -”

“Varric.” Her hands come up to frame his face, pulling his eyes up to meet hers -

He lets out a soft noise at the gentleness in her expression. “Cassandra?” he asks weakly.

She smiles, then, a bright expression. “Would you run from my heart? I would offer it freely.”

He swallows. “Oh.” The tunic falls from his hands as he reaches hesitantly for her waist. “ _Oh_. You… you do? Really?”

“I am a foolish human,” she whispers, leaning in close until her breath is hot against his lips, “in love with an idiot dwarf. Will you ease this ache in my chest?”

His hand cups the back of her neck. “Oh, Cassandra,” he breathes, “that’s something I can do.” And he closes the gap between them, lips gentle against hers.

* * *

 

Epilogue:

“Wait, are you telling me I didn’t _need_ to spend five hundred Royals?”

“Perhaps I can make it up to you.”

“What do you - oh. _Oh_. Are you going to take those off too?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m the luckiest bastard in the world. Did you lock the door?”

“Yes.”

“Temptress. I love it.”

“Merry Satinalia, Varric.”

“Yes it is, Seeker. Yes it is.”


End file.
